


Projecting onto a fascist

by Call_me_Anarkiddie



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Eating Disorders, Gen, Im tired, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Projecting, Short, This is more of a vent than a cohesive story but
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29750265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Call_me_Anarkiddie/pseuds/Call_me_Anarkiddie
Summary: I project onto Nazi.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> BIG TW for suicidal thoughts/eating disorders

Nazis stomach growled as he turned onto his side, trying to ignore it. The sheets on his bed were a mess due to the fact that he hadn't been able to get to sleep and was restless.

Despite the low growls coming from his stomach, Nazi didn't feel hungry at all. As of late, he couldn't really feel much of anything at all. He was numb. The feeling of a blade cutting into his skin was the only thing that made him feel human anymore. The only thing that made him feel alive. 

Rolling up his sleeves, Nazi traces the countless scars that lined his wrists and forearms. He looked up at the ceiling, eyes watering.

'What's the point of living anymore? Nobody cares. I bet if I died tommorow, nobody would notice.'

He hugged himself, trying to remember what it was like to feel things. To be happy. To be able to laugh and joke like everybody else. 

He whimpered, burying his face in a pillow. Tears pricked at his eyes, threatening to fall. He buried his face deeper into the pillow and started to sob quietly. 

Fuck, he shouldn't be crying. Why was he crying? He wasn't even sad, just empty. Numb.

Nazi finally decided to just go downstairs and try to eat something. He picked up an apple that was on the counter, taking a bite of it slowly. He felt sick. Gross. He finished it though, trying to get the growing need to throw up to go away. It didn't.

Nazi ran to the bathroom, sticking his fingers down his throat and wretched into the toilet bowl until bile burned his throat. Gross.


	2. Not hungry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I project more of my issues onto Nazi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for eating disorders, self harm and a suicide attempt.

All Nazi could feel was guilt as he lay there on his bed in his dark room.

He had eaten today. More-- more than he was supposed to. And he didn't throw it up. The thought made him whimper, his lip quivering. He started to shake. Fuck, he was so pathetic. He couldn't even control himself. Fuck.

He balled his fists and kept off his bed, grabbing the pair of scissors that were on his desk and quickly digging the sharp edge of one of the blades into his skin. The white identitarian slid the blade across his arm quickly, surprised when he saw beads of blood drip from the wound. This gave his a rush of adrenaline as he did it again and again. When he finally stopped, the blade was bloody. He wiped it off with the hem of his shirt dismissively, rolling his sleeves up to conceal the scars. 

He let out a small sob, tears welling up in his eyes. He couldn't live like this anymore. He spent every day in pain, every waking second was spent wallowing in self hatred. It wasn't worth it. Nothing was going to get better.

Nazi rummaged in his closet for no longer than five minutes before he found his safe. Leaving his closet and walking to his bed, he placed the safe on his lap, looking down at it. Nazi traced the cold, rusted metal.

Finally, he entered the combination and pulled out his revolver. With shaking hands, he slowly brought the gun to his temple, resting the cool metal against his head, his finger on the trigger. He let out a small sob. This was it. After this there would be nothing. He found it pointless to write a note as he doubted his fellow extremists would care about his death very much anyway.

His life flashed through his mind. He thought to the start of the Centricide, where he had resented the extremists he now considered his friends. He and Commie teaming up to defeat Horseshoe Centrist. 

He pulled the trigger. 

There was a silent 'click' 

The gun wasn't loaded.

Nazi threw his gun across the room in frustration, curling in around himself and crying.

**Author's Note:**

> this will probably have more than one chapter because i need to vent a lot n shit


End file.
